


Something to Come Home To

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Gen, Lokitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Clint notices it when he’s making his routine check of the vents on the top few floors. (If Stark’s told him once, he’s told him a thousand times that the security on the tower is tighter than the shit at the White House, but he can’t help it - he prefers to secure the perimeter himself.) The sound’s coming from Thor’s quarters, and it’s faint but unmistakeable.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Thor’s got himself a cat," he tells Natasha later that night.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Come Home To

**Author's Note:**

> Just absolute fluff, because I like the Avengers happy.

Clint notices it when he’s making his routine check of the vents on the top few floors. (If Stark’s told him once, he’s told him a thousand times that the security on the tower is tighter than the shit at the White House, but he can’t help it - he prefers to secure the perimeter himself.) The sound’s coming from Thor’s quarters, and it’s faint but unmistakeable.

"Thor’s got himself a cat," he tells Natasha later that night. She smiles, that gentle one he can’t quite get used to yet.

"I never had any pets," she says, and stretches, cat-like herself, before curling a leg around Clint and settling her head on his chest. "Might be nice to have one around."

Clint sneezes in response.

***

The next morning, he runs into Rogers in the kitchen, setting up the coffeepot for the day. Stark got one of those big industrial ones after everybody moved in, said there was no way his 12-cup would be enough for two super-soldiers, a god, and a sometimes-Hulk, never mind himself and the other “regular ones.” The thing makes an obscene amount of coffee, but then, it’s always nearly empty by the end of the day. Being a superhero tends to be kind of exhausting, after the adrenaline crashes.

"Hey, man," Rogers says, then turns and stops short. "Holy cow, what’s wrong with you?"

Clint saw himself in the mirror earlier, knows his eyes are red and watery, knows he looks a mess. “Captain Hammer up there has a cat now. Apparently I’m allergic.”

Rogers smiles sympathetically. “I know how that is. I’m sorry. Still, though,” he continues, mostly into his coffee, a flush stealing over his cheeks, “that must be good for Thor. It’s nice, having something to come home to.”

Barnes comes ambling in, hair a tangled mess, and the look on Steve’s face is like a fucking sunrise.

"You look like hell, punk," Barnes says, and Clint shoots him a watery glare.

***

When he gets home later that evening, laden with boxes of every over-the-counter allergy pills he could get his hands on, he finds everyone gathered on Tony’s floor, watching as Thor attempts to make his cat - kitten, really - jump into the air, using a feather as bait. The kitten, sleek and black with unnervingly calculating blue-green eyes, is having none of it, simply staring at Thor as though he is the biggest fool in the nine realms.

Clint’s seen that look before, directed at Thor specifically, but he’s not going to say anything. Either Thor knows who that cat really is and doesn’t care, or he doesn’t know, but as long as the cat stays a cat and doesn’t turn back into a revenge-driven god bent on world domination, Clint’s not gonna be the one to tell him. The grin the thunder god’s sporting is a good look on him.

And besides, he thinks as he looks around the room, Nat by his side, Barnes and Rogers pressed close together in an oversized chair, and Banner and Stark sprawled on the sofa, occasionally kicking one another with matching shit-eating grins on their faces - besides, Rogers is right. It’s nice having something to come home to.

The cat takes this as his cue to wander up to Clint, rubbing his furry face against Clint’s knee with pure mischief in his eyes, and he sneezes four times in a row before excusing himself to take a Claritin.

God-fucking-damn it, Clint hates Loki.


End file.
